


A Crushed Carnation

by CriseydetheTraitor



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriseydetheTraitor/pseuds/CriseydetheTraitor
Summary: Slightly AUOlaf and Kit are happily engaged. Olaf runs a theatre company and regularly casts Kit's best friend, Beatrice, in the leading roles. That all changes, however, when the mysterious dark-haired beauty, Esme Squalor, moves to the city with the hope of becoming an actress. Esme threatens Kit and Olaf's relationship, and complicates the city's community in ways that leave it forever changed and not entirely for the better.I see this as an extended short story that will have ten parts. Each chapter is around 1,000 words.
Relationships: Beatrice Baudelaire/Esmé Squalor, Beatrice Baudelaire/Lemony Snicket, Count Olaf/Kit Snicket, Georgina Orwell/Esmé Squalor, Kit Snicket/Esmé Squalor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. The Sinful Sighting

Esme Squalor came to the city to be an actress. At least that’s what she told everyone. There was something different about her though, some intrinsic quality that set her sharply apart from the rest of the beautiful young women living in the City at that time. She was simultaneously foreign and familiar, lovely and horrible. There was some shifting darkness within her, impossible to pin down but, nevertheless, undeniable. Kit heard about her long before she ever saw her for the first time. As Olaf discussed the casting of his new play, he mentioned that it was Esme Squalor, rather than Beatrice or one of the other regulars, who was going to play the lead. 

“What makes you think she has the talent?” Kit asked, more sharply, perhaps, than she had originally intended. 

Olaf waved his hands about---excitedly, it seemed to Kit. “She has this…element about her. It makes her unlike any woman you might imagine. At first, I had thought that quality within her might be off-putting, but the longer I watched her audition, the more I realized that she has just what we need. People are tired of seeing the same old thing, Kit. You know that. They want to be entertained and mightily.” 

Kit scoffed, “I think Beatrice is mightily entertaining. Can’t think of what this woman has got that she hasn’t.”

Olaf nodded, “Beatrice is impressive to be sure, but you’ll know what I mean when you see Esme in the production. It is going to be my grandest yet. At last, people will begin to recognize the brilliance of Al Funcoot!” 

Kit bit back affectionate laughter. “I’m sure they will, dear. Well, let me see her.”

“See who?” Olaf asked. 

“This Esme woman. Let me see her headshot. Everyone has been talking about what an unusual beauty she is, how she isn’t some street tramp. Prove it. Let me see her.”

“Your wish is my command,” Olaf said, rifling through his briefcase until his hands seized upon a square, black and white image. Between finger and thumb, Kit took the picture, brought it to the light, and found herself arrested by the face before her. Esme was, indeed, strikingly beautiful, with high cheekbones, wide eyes, and the lustrous black hair people had so often described as her trademark. Her fingers, which she had brought close to her face, were long and spidery, somehow undercutting the appealing nature of the smile she wore. 

“What do you think?” Olaf asked, desperate, as ever, for Kit’s good opinion. “She’s stunning,” Kit admitted, “Looks a bit mad, perhaps.”

“Aren’t the best ones?”

Kit responded by kissing him full on the lips. “Only when they’re your brand of mad,” she retorted. Something about seeing Esme had left her warm and unsettled. “Come on, take me to bed.”

Olaf complied. 

xxx

In the end, Kit didn’t have wait until the premiere of Olaf’s new production to meet Esme Squalor. She turned up at one of Georgina Orwell’s parties. The eccentric doctor was as well known for her interest in surrealist art as she was for her medical practice, and she often hosted art shows in which surrealists would visit her eccentric home and present their work. Of course, the art shows were far more than mere opportunities to present art; indeed, they doubled as galas as well. The guests—everyone who was anyone in the city—would don their best and enjoy cocktails and good company until the early morning hours. Of course, it wasn’t always so civilized, as Georgina’s parties had been known to embrace debauchery from time to time. The unpredictable nature of the events kept the locals intrigued, perplexed, and excited simultaneously. 

On the night of this particular party, Kit and Olaf had arrived late, and the gala was already in full swing. In the center of it all, Georgina Orwell sat on a golden chair that looked like a throne. Beside her, in a slightly less glamorous chair, was none other than Kit’s beloved brother, Lemony. For it was Lemony’s art that they had gathered to celebrate that evening. In recent months, his approach to surrealism had begun to garner the attention it deserved. Kit knew that, in his heart of hearts, Lemony had always hoped that Georgina might host such an event for him. When Kit caught sight of brother, she waved happily, “Lemony, oh Lemony, love! This is an absolute dream.” She took his hands in hers and saw, to her surprise, that his eyes possessed none of the pleasure she had expected to see in him on a night like tonight. “What is it?” she asked. 

Georgina, noting Kit’s arrival, nodded curtly in her direction. “Good to see you’ve arrived, Kit,” she said huskily, “I’ll leave you two to it.” With uncharacteristic politeness, she stood up and walked over toward a crowd of spectators to give the two siblings privacy.

“It’s Beatrice.” Lemony almost moaned, “Oh, Kit, it’s Beatrice. Two nights ago, I caught her—found her—” the poor man’s face twisted as if the pain were unbearable. Kit squeezed his hand. “I found her kissing another woman in her play. That Esme woman—the one Olaf has cast in the sort of part he would usually give Beatrice.”

Kit was aghast, “It can’t be true. Beatrice loves you above all else. Are you sure of what you saw?”

Lemony shook his head miserably, “To think that I had hoped to propose to her tonight. What could a woman offer her that I can’t? I came to the dressing room to bring her roses—I know she’s been having a rough time lately—but then I saw them together! What more could I have given Beatrice?” 

Kit took her brother’s face in her hands. “Lemony, darling, it wasn’t you. Listen, this is your night. People are here to celebrate you and your genius. If Beatrice is willing to risk your love for some floozy, that’s her folly. It’s unthinkable to me.”

A strange light illuminated Lemony’s eyes, and he reached for Kit’s forearms, grasping her gently but firmly as if to make her understand. “She’s not some floozy, Kit. To be honest, I’ve never seen a woman like her. When I saw her in that room, I wanted to cry and laugh at once. She isn’t just a woman, why-” Lemony let go off Kit and gestured wildly about the room, “She’s art! Her face—her whole being—is like art.”

Suddenly ill at ease, Kit took a step away from her brother. As she did so, her gaze flickered toward the entrance to Georgina’s home, where, standing in the light of the entrance hall, was the dark-haired beauty from Olaf’s briefcase. As Kit looked at her, she felt her own tears burn in her throat. Behind her, she heard Georgina sigh with approval, “At last,” she murmured. Everyone in the room seemed transfixed. Everyone, that was, except Kit, who, against her better judgment, abandoned her brother and swiftly approached the strange woman to experience her magic, entirely, with her own eyes.


	2. The Aspiring Actress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this story is such a short one, I will mostly be posting a chapter every day or every other day. I hope this is not too much. Enjoy!

Feeling feverish, Kit walked up to Esme Squalor with all the confidence she could muster. As she arrived at the other woman's side, she found that, up close, she was surprisingly underwhelming. From a distance, Esme had seemed magical, but, at arm's length, Kit could see clearly that she was human after all. There was sweat above her thin lips, as if she felt nervous, and, though her smile had been glamorous in her photograph, her teeth were ever so slightly larger than Kit had realized previously, giving her a somewhat childish, confused look. Kit took advantage of the self-assuredness that Esme's physical imperfections lent her and gained control of the situation. "How dare you?" she demanded, "How dare you come to an event like this--an event to honor my brother's genius—after what you did to him?"

Esme's eyes widened, and Kit searched them for any sign of insincerity. She found none. "Excuse me," Esme said, "I don't believe we've met. There must be some mistake."

"We haven't met, but you've got some nerve implying that you don't know who I am. I'm Lemony's sister and Olaf's fiancé, for heaven's sake. I've seen Olaf's photos of me at the theater. And I happen to know that you kissed my brother's lover, Beatrice Baudelaire, in her dressing room this week. Tell me what right you had to do that."

Passionate as she was, Kit hadn't noticed that the pitch and volume of her own voice had risen while she was speaking, and now a healthy number of the partygoers were staring at the area near the door where she and Esme were standing. A small degree of embarrassment stole over her, but she shoved it aside. 

By contrast, her opponent seemed incapable of disguising her shame. Though she attempted to maintain a calm expression, her red cheeks betrayed her. She swallowed hard before finally speaking. "You're Kit," she said weakly, "I should have known right away. You know, when I first started working at the theater, I asked Olaf if he might go for a girl like me and he said, 'Gentlemen prefer blondes.' Now, I see why he said that."

Kit cleared her throat sharply, "Flattery will get you no where," she said. 

Esme's eyes lifted to meet Kit's, and all of a sudden, the intensity Kit had seen in her headshots returned. Something in Esme's gaze left her feeling unbalanced and she was once again wondering if the other woman's apparent innocence was a mere act. "I came here," Esme started, her voice clear and eloquent, "to apologize to your brother." Seamlessly, she turned away from Kit began to walk toward the center of the room, where Georgina and Lemony were seated. Kit, who felt the sting of rejection, followed Esme as though she were compelled. 

Olaf, who had been looking on, walked over to Kit and touched her shoulder gently. "Is this worth it?" he asked, "Let her talk to your brother, sort things out. Come on, sweetheart, I know you love Lemony, but he's awfully possessive of Beatrice. Everyone knows that."

Kit pulled sharply away from Olaf, as if to avoid being slapped. "Just how would you feel if someone other than you touched me?"

Olaf sighed, "Point taken," he said, releasing her from his grasp. 

As Kit caught up with Esme, she noticed, to her amazement, that Lemony had not dismissed the woman from his sight. Instead, he seemed to be listening to her attentively. Esme, for her part, was gesturing with her hands as she spoke, and her voice was almost tearful, "I want you to know, Lemony, that your Beatrice and I were just larking about. You know, how women do sometimes. A kiss between two girls—two girls like us at least—well, it never means anything. At the most, it was a moment of narcissism, rather than desire, between the two of us. I wanted to know what it would be like to kiss someone as beautiful as I am. Kissing another woman is like," Esme hesitated and glanced around the opulent room, "Like admiring art. It isn't about sensuality or…or love. It's purely aesthetic. Beatrice and I aren't queer, you know."

These words might have seemed ridiculous spoken by anyone else, but somehow, Kit sensed in Esme the same bizarre sense of sincerity that she had sensed before, and it made her tremble. She could see, too, that her brother was also moved. He reached for Esme's hand, as if to offer her comfort. "I think I understand," he said quietly. "God, I've been such a fool. I told Beatrice she shouldn't come tonight over this."

Esme wiped a tear from her eye. "Yes, you've broken her heart, I'm afraid. She didn’t come to rehearsal at all today, and when I called her, she didn't pick up."

Lemony rose to his feet. "I need to call her," he said, letting go of Esme's hand. "Thank you for helping me see reason."

Esme's expression was suddenly playful. "Isn't that what women are good for?"

Lemony didn't reply, as he was already off to use Georgina's phone. His departure left Kit, yet again, alone with Esme Squalor. Both women attempted to speak simultaneously before casting their eyes toward the floor. Without looking up, Kit said, "I fear I misjudged you. Can we start again?"

Esme laughed aloud, "Why, yes, of course! I had hoped you might say that. Olaf speaks of you so often. It's a thrill to see you in the flesh."

Kit's skin felt as if it were crawling, a sensation she put down to the champagne she had had prior. "I suppose I've heard a fair bit about you too. Heard about you well before Olaf cast you in his work, in fact. But, I have to admit, I don't know any of the other productions you've been in. What theater company did you work for before Olaf's?"

Esme shrugged sheepishly, "Well, I guess I didn’t have much steady work before Olaf."

Kit was astonished. "How did you support yourself in this City for so many months without employment?"

Esme smiled conspiratorially, "A woman like myself has her ways. Have you heard of dating for dinner?"

Kit shook her head. "You mean prostitution?" she asked rather bluntly. 

Esme was aghast. "Certainly not! What do you take me for?"

"I don't know. I can't say I rightly know you yet."

"Touche. Well, dating for dinner is what it sounds like. You catch the eye of some fellow, he takes you out, pays for it, and then you don't have to hungry."

A cynical laugh escaped Kit. "I find it terribly hard to believe that you never pay any of those men in other ways."

"Only when it is something I want. I never do anything I don't want to do, you see. Life's too short for that. Most of them were happy for my company. I know I can be good company. My fiancé used to say it all of the time, 'Esme, you're not like the other girls. You're so unafraid to be you.'" As Esme spoke, her eyes danced, as though she was momentarily in a world only she could see. 

"Fiance, eh?" Kit asked, "What happened to him?"

Esme sat down on a nearby cushion and beckoned for Kit to sit beside her. Without thinking, Kit did. Though Kit was nearby, Esme focused on her black stocking, which, to Kit's astonishment, had a slight run in it. The rest of Esme's clothing, an eccentric purple number with the puffy shoulders that were stylish at the time, was perfectly polished, but the stockings were a mess. It was only when she was seated that the purple skirt rose high enough to reveal this truth. For some reason, Kit found the torn stockings deeply affecting. If Esme noticed the sympathy in Kit's demeanor, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she picked wildly at the run, a nervous tick that would no doubt destroy the stocking even further. If anxiety could be implicit in any motion, it was within the Esme's trembling fingers. "My fiancé, Jerome, he was an airline pilot during the war." She hesitated, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Kit chuckled, "Sure, when I was a bit younger, it would happen to me every few days."

Esme frowned, "But it really happened! With Jerome, it was real love at first sight. I was still living in St. Augustine, and he was spending a night there at the military base before going back overseas. And we fell in love in one night. He asked me to marry him." Esme picked at the stocking all the more furiously, "But he never came home. He died in combat."

Kit was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said at last. 

"Yeah," Esme replied, her tone heavy with unshed emotion. "Listen, I'm sorry I told you that. I don't know why I did."

"It's no trouble, truly. Listen, if you're from the east coast, why'd you move out west? You're a long way from home."

"I told you. I moved out here to be an actress."

"But you haven't been working for months, you said."

"I've made my way," Esme said, somewhat primly. "And it wasn't through prostitution." She spoke the word as though it tasted like dirt in her mouth. "Jerome always said I had the spark to make it big. I'm gonna do it here. Everyone moves out west for this kind of work."

"You don't sound east coast."

"What do I sound like then?"

"I don't know." Kit answered honestly. 

"I can sound east coast if you want me to. I can be from anywhere. I can be anyone. It's why I'll be so good in pictures or in theater. Come to Olaf's show. You'll see."

As Esme talked, Kit felt a cold chill run through her and she was reminded of Lemony's words. That Esme was like art, like magic. All of a sudden, all that had made her seem ordinary and human vanished. "All right," Kit said, "I will. I would have gone anyway. Olaf is so proud of this one."

Esme smiled gleefully. "Oh excellent, darling. All the more reason for me to look forward to it then." 

In the time Esme and Kit had been talking, a crowd had begun to gather in the center of the room. "Look," Esme said, "Georgie is about to do a demonstration!" Before Kit could ask what she meant, Esme said, "Toodle-oo, Kit! Until we meet again!" and she scurried off to get a better view of whatever Georgina was about to share with the crowd. 

Breathless, Kit found her place beside Olaf in the assembled throng. "Oh good," he said, "I was worried. Wasn't sure where you had gone off to."

Kit felt almost relieved to see him, though it didn't seem possible to articulate why. "I'm here, love," she said. She took him by the hand and he kissed the crown of her head. 

At the front of the crowd, Georgina was writing obscenities on a woman's breasts in red lipstick. When Kit finally processed that this was the "demonstration" the crowd was so eager to witness, she was instantly repulsed. "Olaf, she's going too far this time. This is appalling!" And it was. The young woman had drunk so much that she had lost consciousness. She lay motionless, like a corpse, as Georgina wrote all over her body. "Lay off, Georgina!" Kit called, but her voice was lost in the cheers from the crowd. Encouraged by the applause, Georgina picked up a leather whip from a nearby table, stripped the woman down to nakedness before the crowd, and proceeded to hit her bare flesh with the whip. 

The sharp pain shocked her out of her slumber, and she screamed as the reality of the situation set in. Blood ran from the woman's back and hindquarters down into the crevices of her most private areas. She screamed, "Stop! Please Georgina, have mercy!" but her desperation seemed only to encourage the throng's depravity. 

Kit was astounded. She looked at Olaf and saw, to her horror, that he seemed almost mesmerized. She grasped his hand aggressively. "Come on," she snapped, "We're going home now! I can't watch this shit." Kit searched the crowd for Lemony before concluding that he had already left to find Beatrice in his taxi. "There is no reason to stay here now, let's go." 

"Oh Kit, don't be a bad sport, love. Its just a bit of fun."

"Your idea of fun maybe. I'm leaving." With that, she pushed past him, through the crowd, and into the awaiting night. Unbidden tears streamed down her face as the cold night air pinched her cheeks and nose unpleasantly. It was a shame her brother had already left. She could use a taxi now. As she attempted to hail one, she heard Esme Squalor's lilting accent-from-anywhere echoing from within an alleyway adjacent to Georgina's home. The would-be actress was distraught, and talking to a man who was, in some way, failing to accommodate her. All sense abandoned, Kit walked from the relative safety of the well-lit streets and toward the depths of the darkness beyond.


	3. A Salacious Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people who have left kudos. Here is chapter 3!

As Kit tiptoed into the alleyway, she heard the man's deep voice insisting, "Georgina needs the money, Esme. You can't put her off forever. You know that."

"I told you I'd get it, darling. And I will. I'll have it as soon as the production starts and the crowds come." Though Kit couldn't see the other woman's face, she could picture her smile, that same, superficial smile she had flashed multiple times at the party earlier that evening. The smile Esme apparently employed whenever she was, in fact, ill at ease."

The man grunted, "See that you do," he said and lumbered off down the alleyway in the opposite direction. In the gloom, Kit could just make out the shape of a large, bald man. 

The individual retreating, however, interested her far less than did the figure that she was now nearing. Once the bald man was out of sight, Esme slumped miserably against the wall behind her. Kit decided to intervene. "Having trouble?" she asked. 

Predictably, Esme jumped, as if she had seen a ghost. "It isn't polite to surprise people like that," she said curtly. Kit had to give Esme credit-- the woman could keep her composure. Seconds earlier, she had been crumbling, and now she sounded ready for a verbal sparring match. 

Kit threw up her hands in mock surrender. "Apologies. I'm not really known for my politeness. I was leaving and it sounded like you were in the middle of an uncomfortable conversation. Just wanted to make sure all was well."

Esme suddenly smiled brightly, "I'm fine, Kit. It was nothing. I just owe Georgie some money is all. But I'll pay it back once I start performing. I know I'll be able to."

Kit looked dubiously at Esme's expensive purple dress. "Wouldn't have guessed you were hard up for money."

Esme straightened her shoulders proudly. "I never used to be," she sniffed. "My family back east is incredibly wealthy, in fact. But I can't say they liked my decision to be an actress and now, here I am. I brought as many of my beautiful dresses with me as I could. Waltzing through a city like this one with no sense of fashion would be a dreadful way to go through life, don't you think?"

Kit's heart fluttered just to spite her, "If you say so. Where have you been staying, if you're hard up for money?"

"Would you stop saying it like that?"

"Okay, where have you been staying?"

"I rent a room at Nero Feint's place." 

Kit recoiled before she could stop herself. "How can you stand that pervert? Surely, there is a better place to go."

Esme shrugged nonchalantly, "The rent is reasonable and a lot of other hopeful actresses stay there. Sure, Nero has made an advance or two, but that's nothing I can't take care of. And the doors lock, of course."

"I don't like the thought of you there."

Esme's expression softened somewhat. "I'm under your skin already," she said playfully. 

"I wouldn't go that far," Kit retorted, "but I don't like the thought of any young woman in there. Not a good place."

"I won't be there after I make it." Esme insisted, and Kit couldn't find it in her heart to argue. 

"Let me at least make sure you get home all right. I'll call a taxi for both of us."

"I don't want to go back into Georgina's tonight." Esme said abruptly. 

Kit, perplexed, looked back at her, "We won't. There's a hotel across the street. They'll have a phone."

xxx

Kit and Esme's ride back uptown was fairly unremarkable. Esme went on about her taste in shoes and how the first thing she wanted upon "making it big" was to buy some expensive purse by a designer Kit had never even heard of. Kit could scarcely think of anything shallower, but somehow, Esme's passion made the topic seem less vapid than it would have under other circumstances, and she was almost sad to see the other woman leave the taxi. As Esme stepped onto the sidewalk and that led to Nero Feint's guesthouse, Kit noticed that the strange man had attempted to make his establishment more presentable. Where before, the guesthouse was known for its sterile, austere façade, the brick building was now adorned with carnation plants. As if reading Kit's mind, Esme said, "Aren't the flowers lovely?"

Kit grinned, deciding, in heat of the moment, to humor the eccentric woman before her. "Almost as lovely as you," she said and, though her tone was teasing, she meant the words. 

Inspired, Esme walked over to one of the potted plants, plucked a carnation from it, and placed it in her hair. The light of the streetlamps illuminated her face, highlighting the sharp contrast of the flower's delicate pink against the pitch-black backdrop of her hair. Kit recalled what Esme had said earlier, about gentlemen preferring blondes, but she was uncertain how any color could be preferred to the raven curls before her. A mixture of jealousy and elation coursed through her body. 

Esme, not privy to Kit's thoughts, asked, "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"You know it does. Goodnight, Esme."

"Goodnight, Kit, darling!" Esme trilled, as Kit's taxi sped off into the night. 

xxx

Kit told the driver to drop her off at Lemony's rather than Olaf's. She was still rather put out with her fiancé, and knew that leaving for a few days would send a message like nothing else could. When she arrived at her brother's modest home, she rang the bell, hopeful that he or Beatrice would still be awake. After a minute or so, the door opened, and she found herself looking into the bleary, but happy eyes of Beatrice. "Kit, love, what are you doing here at this hour?"

Kit decided not to go into specifics, "Olaf and I had a fight. I need to stay here for a couple of days."

Beatrice hummed sympathetically, "I guess this is to be the week of domestic disputes, is it?" 

"You could say that again. You and Lemony sorted things out, I take it?"

"Oh yes. He just overreacted. Men don't always understand that physical affection between women usually doesn't mean anything to the women involved. You know that better than anyone. Remember the days before you introduced me to Lemony?" Laughter bubbled beneath Beatrice's words. 

"I try not to," Kit replied ambiguously, cringing as she heard those words-- affection between women doesn't mean anything—for the second time in one night. She looked over at Beatrice and wondered how she managed to be beautiful at this hour. Her red hair was a mess--no doubt from making love to Lemony some hours earlier--but it was still somehow glamorous. The robe she wore was old, but it accentuated her figure in flattering ways. Kit couldn't help but imagine that she looked a wreck in comparison. "Anyway, you don't mind if I crash on the couch, do you?"

"Not a bit. It will be a pleasure! I'll go and get some pillows from upstairs." Before Kit could protest, Beatrice had rushed off to play the good host. Kit wished she wouldn't bother sometimes. 

When Beatrice returned, her expression morphed into a frown of concern. "What is it, Kit? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I feel as though I have. Beatrice, I know why you kissed that woman. There is something off about her. Tonight, I felt it too."

Beatrice shook her head furiously, "I just told you that the kiss meant nothing. It was like the kisses you and I shared. It was experimental, like target practice for the real thing. That's all it was to Esme too. I know she told Lemony as much at the party."

"How can you say that it never means anything?" Kit asked, "Can you honestly tell me you've never felt for a woman as you have for a man?"

"Of course, I can!" Beatrice said incredulously, "Could we drop this vile topic, Kit? It is very late at night."

"I know," Kit said meekly, "I'm sorry. "

Immediately, Beatrice's sympathy returned. "I know how difficult it is to fight with someone you love. You and Olaf will set things right, I know it."

Beatrice pulled Kit into an embrace. Kit didn't object. A moment passed before she felt she could speak again. "Beatrice, what might someone be in Georgina's debt for? I thought she asked all of her optometry patients to pay upfront if they don't have insurance. She's strict about it."

Beatrice furrowed her brow. "What brought this up?"

"I overheard a conversation tonight. Some girl was moaning about being in Georgina's debt somehow."

Beatrice smirked, "Oh, I know what that's about. I can't believe you don't, really. You're the observant one. Georgina has two different medical practices. During the day, she's an optometrist and art connoisseur. At night, she practices a different sort of procedure. One that benefits young girls in need in a big way. Your moaning mistress at the party probably benefitted from Georgina's…services."

Kit turned white. "You don't mean--"

"Yes," Beatrice finished for her, "That's exactly what I mean. I think Georgina feels sorry for girls like that on some level. It's why she doesn't demand to be paid right away. It's like she has a soft spot for them." Beatrice's lips turned upward, as if in disgust. "So she fixes their "problem"—it is hard to become an actress or hook a rich husband if you're with child, after all—but she expects payment eventually. It isn't unreasonable to want to be paid."

Kit pictured Georgina whipping the naked woman a few hours earlier, "What happens if they can't pay?"

Beatrice shrugged, "Can't imagine. Ask Georgina." She leaned over and kissed Kit on the top of her head. "Get some sleep tonight, though. You need it." With that, Beatrice left Kit with her best bed pillow, and went back to Lemony's arms. 

Despite Beatrice's well wishes, Kit did not sleep well. Her mind oscillated between images of Georgina striking the young woman until she bled, and Esme playfully placing the beautiful carnation in her hair. At last, exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a dose in which nightmares reigned.


	4. The Perfidious Play

After her restless night, Kit slept late into the morning. At 10:30 am, she awoke to the gentle sound of Beatrice's voice, "Kit, wake up. Olaf is here."

At once, Kit felt quite awake indeed. "Tell him to go away. I'm not ready to see him."

Beatrice gave her a withering look. "Kit, he brought flowers. Listen to what he has to say at least."

Hearing this news, Kit's resolve softened somewhat, but she was determined to maintain a tough front. "Tell him I won't listen to him unless he's willing to apologize for how he acted last night." 

"You can tell him yourself, silly. Here, get this robe on and I'll let him in." Beatrice handed Kit a fluffy pink robe, before going to open the door. Kit attempted to sit in a vaguely dignified way, which was difficult given that she had slept on her brother's lumpy sofa and had not yet dressed. 

Nevertheless, her effort had its effect on Olaf, who was, she could tell, both impressed and slightly intimidated at the sight of her. "Kit, love, I didn't realize how much Georgina's demonstration would bother you last night. I know she goes overboard sometimes. I suspect you were right—she went too far. You're always right, darling. Please forgive me."

Kit rolled her eyes. "Is that the best you’ve got? Olaf, last night was weird. Don't pretend like it wasn't. I've seen that Georgina can be a little…depraved from time to time, but that was beyond any of my imaginings. What's gotten into her?"

Olaf sighed, "Kit, don't be jealous. You know Georgina is a thing of the past. I couldn't possibly feel for her what I feel for you."

Kit sat upright, as if she'd been burned. "You think this is about your relationship with her? You know I'm not jealous, Olaf. I don't give a fuck about what you used to have with her. Ordinarily, I like Georgina and I think she likes me well enough. What she did to that young woman last night was unforgivable. Why would she do that?"

Beatrice, who had been silently observing the scene while making her coffee, couldn't resist adding to the noise. "Maybe she was one of the ones who couldn't pay."

Kit blanched, though the thought had already occurred to her during her sleepless hours the previous night. "Did you know about Georgina's secret night life too, Olaf? Beatrice told me last night that she performs abortions on aspiring actresses who are hard up for money."

Beatrice choked, "God, Kit, I didn't put it like that."

"Maybe you should have," Kit said flatly, "All of us in V.F.D. would benefit from speaking a little more plainly, I think."

To her surprise, Beatrice turned back to her coffee and didn't argue. Olaf cleared his throat. "I'd heard the rumor that Georgina was doing that. But what's wrong with it? It's a good service. I reckon it shouldn't be illegal."

"You know I agree with you. I don't care that she's performing the abortions. I'm glad for it. She's putting her general medical training to good use. What I mind is that she's abusing women who aren't able to pay her in full."

Olaf's face softened, "Kit, your compassion shames me. It always does. What can I say? I'm rougher around the edges than you are. You're the best thing about me. I'll speak to Georgina about her treatment of those girls if you think it would help."  
Kit could feel her resolve breaking. She flashed Olaf a genuine smile. "No, I can handle it. Put her at the same table as me at the opening night of your play in a few days. I can ask her about it at intermission."

"Don't upstage my play by causing any unnecessary squabbling in the gallery." 

Olaf's tone had a happy lilt to it, but Kit knew some sincerity underlined his words. "I wouldn't dream of it." Kit said, "I'll be civil. But I need to know what has gotten into her."

xxx

A few nights later, Kit arrived at the outdoor venue where Olaf's play was to take place. Rather than traditional chairs, the area where the audience was to sit was comprised of quaint tables where the guests could order drinks and watch the production. True to his word, Olaf had requested that Georgina and Kit share a table. Kit arrived and took her seat early. She ordered a cocktail, but didn't drink much of it. Georgina arrived about ten minutes before the show was to begin. 

"Kit," she exclaimed in her husky voice, "when Olaf told me that you wanted to sit with me, I was so pleasantly surprised. I do wish we had more cause to spend time with one another."

Kit nodded warmly, "Well, tonight we do." She watched carefully as Georgina arranged herself at her seat. It was difficult to reconcile the dignified woman with the monster she had seen just a few nights previously. Though it was unlike her, she felt a pang of what might have been jealousy. Georgina was a doctor, a deeply educated woman. She was Olaf's age and, therefore, his equal in a way that Kit could never entirely be. She knew she was Olaf's intellectual equal, but he had loved Georgina a lifetime before, when he had not yet been drained of idealism. Georgina had seen a side of Olaf Kit would never see. Her jealousy quickly gave way to fascination, and she found she couldn't hold a grudge. "Do you want a drink?" Kit asked, "I'll order you what I'm having. It's good."

"You'd buy me a drink? Is this a date, Kit Snicket? Best not tell Olaf!"

"Wouldn't it be a hoot if I did leave him for you? The irony would be rich."

Georgina laughed darkly, a resonant, pleasantly deep sound that left Kit wanting to do anything but confront the other woman. "Oh Kit, I'd die to see his face. He loves you so."

A heavy pause ensued before Kit spoke again. "So, I met Esme Squalor at your party the other night. Lemony was really grateful by the way. Lots of people are buying his art now."

"It was the least I could do. He is very talented. Doesn't need to work for that sad old newspaper forever."

"I'll tell him you said so. But I wanted to say that I met Esme there and I'm excited to see her perform. She's a strange little thing, isn't she?" Kit hoped her voice didn’t tremble as she spoke. She felt determined to learn how Georgina knew Esme, whether she was one of the women Georgina had "helped" recently. Kit knew it was ridiculous, as they had only just met, but she couldn't bear the thought that Esme might be publically humiliated in the way the young woman at the party had been. 

"She is certainly unique in some ways, yes. In others, though, she's astoundingly ordinary. Another girl come out west to make her fortune!" The disapproval in Georgina's tone was plain. "She's unusually beautiful, I'll give her that. That may help her get work as an actress. But I know she hasn't had much work until now. I hear she's a natural at seduction. Nero tells me she's out with a different man nearly every night! But that doesn't mean she's talented."

Kit considered how pleased Georgina had been to see Esme arrive at the party, and felt perplexed that she seemed so dismissive of the girl now. She didn't think this was the time to bring that up, however, as doing so might render Georgina defensive. 

"Kit," Georgina started before Kit could speak again, "Olaf told me that you left early the other night because I let things get out of hand with that young woman. The last thing I'd ever want to do is offend the sensibilities of an intellectual woman like you. If I had thought that display would, I wouldn't have done it at all."

To her amazement, Kit could see the honesty in Georgina's expression. "But why would you do that to her, Georgina? Aren't you above that sort of thing?"

Georgina shrugged. "I get my kicks in certain ways. I suppose we all do. But you see, that girl, she wasn't a woman like us. She's a would-be actress, a tramp. There's nothing truly noble, intellectual, or even beautiful about her. Not really. Women like that are empty, devoid of thought. I'd never treat just any woman that way."

Kit's skin tingled. "So, she's a woman like Esme, then? Does a woman have to be like us, like the people in V.F.D, to have value? Really, Georgina, I'd have thought all of the reading we've done would have educated you better. Besides, I know you have some sympathy for women like that. After all, you devote a lot of time to helping them."

Georgina's eyes widened. "Nothing gets past you, I see. I have my reasons for 'helping' them, as you put it; it's not as though I don't think they deserve to live the lives that they want, however vapid those lives may be." Georgina took a deep breath, "Kit, at some point, you'll understand that women like that exist, on some level, for the pleasure of others. Just be glad you aren't one of them."

A cold chill ran down Kit's spine, but she was incapable of responding in the way she might have wished, as the play was at last about to begin. As the lights dimmed, Kit felt nauseated. She couldn't even be happy for Olaf as he introduced his pride and joy. She focused on the play, attempting, without much success, to block out Georgina's words of moments before. 

xxx  
As it turned out, Esme was charming on stage, but she wasn't, in reality, much of an actress. In fact, if she hadn't been such a striking beauty, Kit had her doubts that Olaf would have cast her at all. Though she had been deeply charismatic in person, she seemed almost wooden onstage, as if she were physically uncomfortable. Kit wondered if she felt nervous, and pity flowed through her. About halfway through the first act, Esme was standing on a large platform, giving a monologue. As she spoke, her voice faltered and, suddenly, she fell to the ground in a pathetic heap. As she fell, her dress rose up around her backside, and the audience was able to see, to their disgust, that blood was seeping down her legs. 

Kit gasped, "My god!"

Georgina chuckled, "Maybe she finally went out with the wrong guy. There are people with truly strange fetishes around here. You'd be shocked what they'll put up a woman's-"

"Don't say it!" Kit hissed, "You're one to talk about fetishes anyway, Georgina. Someone needs to get up there and help her. This is a disaster!"

As if on cue, Olaf rushed onto the stage and gathered the unconscious actress into his arms with all of the tenderness of a lover. At once, Kit felt hot under the collar, and she felt Georgina stiffen sharply beside her, her mirth all but gone. Kit made eye contact with the older woman, who looked at her with a sympathy that made her squirm. "I told you, Kit. Women like this are pleasant enough, but they're seldom worth the pain they inevitably inspire in those around them." Kit thought of the night she and Esme had spent in the taxi. Had Esme been with Olaf before then? Had she danced her way into Kit's heart with her sob story about the fiancé when all the while she had been in bed with the man who was to be Kit's husband? Kit's whole body quivered, as though she too might faint, and she felt Georgina's hand at her back, steadying her.


	5. The Regrettable Realization

Needless to say, after Esme's unfortunate accident, the play swiftly came to an untimely conclusion, and Olaf's prospects of finally being noted for his great talent were utterly lost. After what she had seen that evening, though, Kit couldn't honestly say that she cared much about her fiancé's prospects. She waited on the street outside of the theater for him, smoking cigarette after cigarette even though she seldom smoked in general. Georgina had initially asked to accompany Kit during her wait for Olaf, but Kit had insisted that, to talk with her lover on a night like this, she needed to be alone. Georgina had assured her, in an oddly comforting fashion, that she quite understood. 

When Olaf finally did arrive, Kit felt as though she had been waiting for three years. "Well," she began, "What have you done with Esme?"

Olaf looked sheepish. "She's off to the hospital now. I think she'll be fine."

Kit rolled her eyes, "Good. I'm not really here to talk about her. Spare me the lies this time. I saw the way you looked at her. Tell me, what does that mean for us?"

"Absolutely nothing, my pet." Olaf said softly, "You know how I feel about you, Kit. There is no way a theater tart like that could stand in the way of what we have." 

"You were awfully concerned about her just now." Kit pointed out sourly. 

"Yes, I guess I was. I've developed a bit of a…fascination with the girl, but it's one of those passing infatuations that happen all of the time in my line of work. Feelings like that have no substance; they're never permanent. What you and I have is real, Kit."

"So that's it, then? I'm just supposed to accept that you'll spend your life—our life—having affairs?"

"Yes!" Olaf shouted, and the sound was so unexpected that Kit jumped. "Kit, surely you know Beatrice and me well enough to realize that the theater is a place of experimentation. You experiment with ideas, with costumes, with bodies—its all part of the art form. The affairs are an extension of that—artistic exploration. I doubt I will ever want to stop experimenting. Doing so is a part of my nature. But none of it means anything compared to what I feel for you! Can't you see that? Isn't it enough to know you're the only one who will ever matter?"

When Olaf finished, he was breathless, and Kit wondered if she had ever heard him say so much at once. She knew him well enough to know that he meant the things he had said. He simply couldn't understand why monogamy was necessary when he loved her—Kit—best. What surprised Kit most, however, was that this confession of his was not the part of his speech that had disturbed her the most. "You know," she said, "I'm beginning to grow very tired of V.F.D. and everything that comes with it." 

Olaf's brow furrowed, "What are you on about, Kit? You aren't making sense."

"People like you, Georgina, and even Beatrice believe you can use people who aren't "intellectual" like the members of our stalwart organization. Of course you can have an affair with a chorus girl and play with her feelings. She's irrelevant! She's hardly even human compared with our great, noble members." Kit shook her head incredulously, "Maybe it's good that I'm finding out now rather than later what sort of person you are," she said flatly. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked confidently off into the night. Olaf called out to her, sounding broken and desperate, but she ignored him, lost in her own miserable thoughts. 

xxx

Despite the fact that she had had no set destination in mind, somehow, Kit's feet took her to the local hospital. She entered the lobby, declared herself a friend of Esme Squalor's, and was, incredibly, admitted to the injured woman's room. When a nurse informed Esme that she had a visitor, the bright-eyed woman's face was illuminated with delight, "Kit!" she exclaimed, "Oh, I'm very glad to see you." When Kit didn't immediately respond, Esme spoke again, this time bashfully. "Except that I expect you aren't so glad to see me. And I don't blame you for it."

Kit sat down in the chair nearest to Esme's hospital bed. "I didn't know I was coming here," she admitted, feeling foolish. "I just had to get away from the theater. From Olaf and everyone else."

"How could you want to see me?" Esme's voice cracked, but she forged ahead. "I thought once you knew about Olaf and me, you'd never want to see me again. I can't tell you how regretful I've been feeling since the night you and I rode uptown together. If I'd known how much I was going to like you, I'd never have gone with your man, I promise." 

In spite of herself, Kit laughed, but there was little pleasure in the sound. "Why did you do it? You knew he was engaged."

Esme swallowed and lowered her head guiltily. "I didn't know Olaf was engaged the first time we went out. And when he told me, I didn't care. I go out with lots of engaged men. Married men too. I told you before—I let men take me out so I don't have to go hungry. It isn't easy trying to make it as an actress. You can't be picky about who you spend time with."

Kit snorted, "How do you sleep at night?"

"Same as you, I suspect. On my side or my stomach depending on the night." Esme's eyes danced playfully until she recognized that her joke had failed to land. "Look, Kit, I don't have time for the high morals you and Beatrice are so obsessed with. I'm just trying to stay alive. I don't have any feelings for Olaf, and he hasn't got any for me. He loves you."

Kit didn't look at her. "I'm not sure I want to be with him anymore." She glanced back, expecting to see shock in the other woman's expression. Instead, what she got was nonchalance, perhaps a little boredom. 

"Good. You could do better." Esme said. She paused for a moment, as though collecting her thoughts. "The other night at Georgina's, you listened to me ramble on about my life. I don't know if you were interested in anything I said, really, but you made me feel heard and valued. No one's made me feel that way, honestly, since Jerome died. You're a rare person, Kit." Esme's expression was wistful, and she reached a hand forward, spindly fingers stretching toward Kit. "I'm glad you've come to see me. I think I'm gladder about that than anything."

"You're a rare person too," Kit said, knowing that it was true regardless of what Olaf or Georgina might say about Esme. She accepted Esme's offered hand. "I'm sorry your first theater performance wasn't what you envisioned."

Esme chuckled bitterly, "It was a nightmare. I'm just happy it wasn't a full house. Maybe the next casting director I meet won't know about this whole debacle."

"There are a lot of things you could do. I know acting is your dream, but someone as charismatic as you would be good at a number of occupations. Don't lose hope." Kit didn't quite know why she was comforting Esme. She felt as though she were in a fog. All that concerned her was the other woman's happiness. That, she knew, was not the natural way to feel about a person she had only encountered once before. Perhaps Lemony was right that Esme was like living art, too compelling to be ignored. 

In response to Kit's kind words, Esme boldly brought the other woman's hand to her lips and kissed it. "You're so good. I wish there could be men like you. Sometimes I think I loved Jerome because he was a man with a woman's compassion."

"A rare combination," Kit mused. 

"Maybe that's why I appreciate women more." 

A companionable silence fell. After a space, Kit said, "You got flowers."

"Yes," Esme said, her cheeks slightly pink. "I had the nurses bring me carnations. They remind me of the other night." 

Kit smiled and plucked a single carnation from the glass. She held it out for Esme to take."For your hair," she said. 

"Oh no, Kit, I look a fright! It’s a waste of a beautiful flower."

"I don't think so," Kit said. She looked at Esme. The other woman did look tired, but her exhaustion failed to suffocate the vivacious energy that still radiated from within her. 

A hint of a smile flickered at Esme's lips, "Well, all right, if you're so convinced, I'll wear it." 

Kit gently placed the carnation in the bed of Esme's dark curls. "It's fabulous!" she declared and Esme, apparently touched by the gesture, leaned forward and kissed Kit on the lips. 

Kit recoiled as if she'd been burned. Esme, at once distraught, brought her hands to her face. "I'm sorry Kit, I wasn't thinking. It's just that there is no one like you. I thought maybe you felt the same."

As if under a spell, Kit stepped forward and pulled Esme's hands away from her face. Never one to mince words, she said, "I do. And that's what scares me." Kit glanced toward the door, "I should go, I think."

"Darling, don't go back to Olaf! He's done things, terrible things." 

Suddenly on guard, Kit asked, "What do you mean? What things?" Her tone was colder than she had intended, but, if Esme was offended, she didn't reveal it. 

"Kit, Olaf wants you to see him in some idealistic light, but you wouldn't if you knew what he is capable of."

"Esme, what are you on about? What has Olaf done?"

Esme looked up at Kit. Her lips quivered, and her eyes were watery. "He committed murder."


	6. The Righteous Refusal

Kit's body grew hot and then cold. "What?" she repeated, as though she hadn't heard properly. 

Esme shivered, "There was another girl around my age who lived in Nero's bunkhouse for awhile. Her name was Olivia, and she was trying to become an actress." Esme hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued, "Olivia was one of those infuriating people who is always kind to everyone. So kind that you're left to wonder whether they mean what they say."

Kit sat down in the chair once more, "Go on," she whispered. 

Esme nodded. "She got cast in one of Olaf's plays, not as the lead—that was Beatrice—but in a fairly significant role. You would never have seen her, though. Before the show's premiere, Olaf made a pass at her, told her he wanted to sleep with her. She was such a fool." Esme groaned, though the sound bore more sympathy than it did disgust. "She told him that she wouldn't. You don't tell a man like him that. I guess you've not seen that side of him, but most of the actresses around here know better than to tell Olaf no. When Olivia did, he got angry."

Kit gave a heavy sigh. "How do I know if I should believe any of this?"

"Because I have no reason to lie to you about this! And because you've seen proof of her murder, whether you realize it or not. Olivia had this golden ring with a sapphire on it. It was the most expensive thing she had, the poor dear—just a family heirloom." Esme placed her hands firmly in her lap as if to keep them from shaking, "Anyway, I guess she refused him, and he took advantage of her anyway."

Kit felt bile rise in her throat. "You mean he raped her?"

"Like I said, Olaf gets what he wants. Face it, Kit, you never really knew him at all."

"That's not true!" Kit cried defensively.

"Isn't it?" Esme asked, and the sad smile on her lips made Kit feel vaguely violent. She attempted to quell her anger and focus once more on Esme's story. Esme went on. "I saw Olivia the night she was raped. She came home, hair tangled, dress utterly disheveled, body covered in blood. And, then, she went and made another ridiculous mistake. She visited the police, accused Olaf of the crime. She told me that she had planned on doing so. I knew it was a mistake, but she didn't listen to me. I never saw her again after that. Except in photographs."

"Photographs?" Kit asked faintly, though she wasn't sure how much more she could stand to hear. 

"Yes. For a while after Olivia's disappearance, none of the young women at Nero's wanted to work in Olaf's productions. He would stop by, offer us opportunities to audition, but no one would take the bait. Eventually, though, I was running out of money. Normally, I get by, but I was…well…in a bad way. I had to have a procedure done. I needed the money. So I auditioned and got cast. When I did, Olaf made his interest in me apparent almost immediately. Before I could refuse or accept his offer, he took me to his office and showed me photographs of Olivia. He didn't tell me her name, of course, but I knew it was her."

At this, Esme seemed almost overcome. Kit was tempted to touch her, to comfort her, but she refrained. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to ward off her own grief. 

Esme turned to the window, her empty eyes facing the expanse of night beyond. "Her body had been…posed. Theatrically. As if she were a piece of art. Her eyes were still open, but unseeing, her arms were positioned above her head, as if she were cheering at some concert rather than dead in a vacant lot. Her midsection had been cut open so that…that her guts were visible." Esme gasped violently, "It was if a werewolf had done it! She had been butchered. Olaf laughed when he showed me the pictures, said that the chief of police was a member of V.F.D and that that meant he could do whatever he wanted. He even bragged that he'd given Olivia's ring to his fiancé as a trophy." Esme's nose wrinkled in displeasure. "I saw you wearing her ring at Georgina's party the other night."

The room around Kit spun violently, and she rushed to the sink in the back corner of the room to be sick at last. She knew exactly the ring to which Esme had referred. Olaf had used it to propose to her. She knew there was a possibility that Esme was lying, but she had to acknowledge, to her horror, that the possibility was slim. The chief of police was indeed a high ranking member of V.F.D., and though Kit would never have expected him to be capable of covering up a crime so foul, she was beginning to think she didn't understand V.F.D. well at all anymore. 

Once she had emptied the contents of her stomach, she wiped her mouth with trembling fingers and turned back to Esme, who was, for once, silent. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Thank you for telling me this," Kit said quietly, "I wish you'd never met Olaf."

"I certainly wish the same for you!" Esme cried, before casting her eyes to the floor. Kit couldn't tell if the other woman was ashamed of her tears or of her passionate outburst. Kit wanted to tell her that she should be ashamed of neither, but couldn't muster the strength. 

Finally, Kit said, "You've been more honest with me in one night than the whole of V.F.D. has been with me in years." Unable to focus any longer on her beloved fiancé the murderer, she tried to focus her attention on the young woman before her. "Are you feeling better? The blood on your legs during the production tonight--was that from the procedure?" Kit knew that such a question might be blunt, but she was in no state to concern herself with politeness at the moment. 

"Yes," Esme said softly, "Georgina gave me a couple of pills. One I took at her house, and the other I took at home hours later. It worked, but you bleed for days afterward."

Kit's heart swelled in sympathy, and she was relieved that she could feel any emotion other than the horrified shock that has utterly enveloped her as Esme had told her tale. "I'm so sorry you went through that," she said. She knew her response was inadequate, and she wanted to say more, but words seemed difficult, unwilling to come to her. 

Esme filled the silence. "Kit," a new desperation seemed to have fallen over her, "I can't pay Georgina for what she did. Now that Olaf's production is bound to be a flop, I won't get enough money. I need your help."

Kit's charitable feelings melted away. "You want my money, you mean?"

"Don't put it like that. I mean, yes, I do. But it's only because I don't have another option. I'd never ask otherwise." Esme said shrilly. 

"Well, maybe you should have considered that before you got pregnant with my fiance's child." Kit hissed lowly, "You honestly thought I was like one of your men? That if you told me a sob story the right way, I'd shell out the cash you wanted? That's what this whole week has been about! You wanted to get close to me so that I'd pay for your fucking abortion."

Esme shook her head wildly, "No, Kit, it's not like that. I did think that you might help me, but that's not why I've wanted to spend time with you."

Kit turned away from Esme, "Goodbye," she muttered. As she walked away, she began to allow grief to pulse throughout her. Esme yelled after her in the background, "You're my last chance, Kit! Something evil will happen if you don't help me. Please." 

Kit turned in the doorway and faced the sniffling woman before her. It occurred to her that Esme probably hated this moment, hated being made to feel like a desperate fool. Kit didn't feel as guilty about Esme's discomfort as she knew she probably should have. "Something horrible has already happened," she said softly. With that, she left the hospital room, doing her best to block out Esme's sobs as she went. 

Once in the lobby, Kit phoned Beatrice, who arrived to pick her up some fifteen minutes later. She didn't say a word the whole car ride home, and Beatrice knew better than to pry. When they arrived at Beatrice and Lemony's home, Kit sat down dismally on the sofa. Beatrice sat beside her. "I know you don't feel well," she said, "I want to tell you one thing that may make you feel a bit better." She grasped Kit's hand affectionately, "I've just been cast in my first movie."


	7. The Miserable Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are reading! In some ways, this chapter is slower than the two that came before it. The movie introduced in this chapter proves very significant later on, however. 
> 
> I believe some of the material in this chapter requires me to change the rating of this story from teen to mature. I hope that doesn't offend anyone.

"A movie?" Kit asked, wondering how Beatrice could possibly think she would care about such a thing after an evening like this one. "What sort of movie?"

Beatrice hesitated briefly, "I'm not sure you'll like this part, but I think you'll know why I'm doing it. It's a nudie film. Nero Feint knows a director whose shooting a collection of them for a friend of his. I know it's not a real movie, but you know all the directors watch these films whether they'll admit it or not. It's usually where they find hot new girls for the silver screen. If people watch my film, I'll have a career before I know it."

Kit, who felt she had experienced more than enough shock for one evening, jumped away from Beatrice as though she were on fire. "Beatrice, that's beneath you! I don't care how this might benefit your future. It isn't worth selling yourself."

"I'm not selling myself. I'm making sure I can get ahead. Don't you see?'

"No, I don't at all." Kit retorted defiantly. 

"Come on, Kit, don't be such a prude. I thought you'd be happy for me." Beatrice looked truly hurt. Kit softened somewhat. 

"You know I'm not a prude." Kit said quietly, "I just don't want the wrong guy to see you. To get the wrong idea. You could get hurt, Beatrice. People get fixated on the girls in those films."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "I can handle myself better than most, Kit. You of all people know that."

"That may be, but I worry all the same."

Beatrice seemed suddenly to want to change the subject. "So, what happened with Olaf? He came here looking for you again. He seemed crazy with grief. I've never seen him like that."

Kit cleared her throat. "He isn't who I thought he was."

Beatrice sighed, "Kit, is monogamy so important to you that you'd drop the person who loves you more than life over it?"

"It isn't about monogamy, Beatrice. I think Olaf has a more colorful past than I realized. It's more than I want to deal with right now." 

Beatrice groaned. "Kit, you're being ridiculous. What are you talking about?"

Kit looked Beatrice in the eye. "What do you know about where Olaf got my engagement ring? You work with him all of the time. Did he ever mention it to you?"

Beatrice shrugged casually, but her fingers twisted over one another until both of her hands came together to form an agitated knot. Kit knew the truth instantly. "I don't know that he ever did," Beatrice said lamely. 

Kit's eyes burned. "Are you sure? Beatrice, whatever he told you, you could tell me."

"You're being strange, Kit. There is nothing to tell." Beatrice unwound her hands. "I think he might have mentioned that he wanted to get an atypical ring once, but that was all."

Kit wanted to believe Beatrice, and the wanting made her feel ill all over again. She swallowed the sickness she felt rising in her throat. "I'm sorry. You're right," she said half-heartedly, "I don't know what has gotten into me. I can't stand the thought of him with someone else. It makes me feel as though I don't know him."

The relief in Beatrice's eyes was almost comical, and Kit found it deeply incriminating. "Oh dearest, he loves you. Everyone tells you that because it's true. I think, when you're ready, you should go and speak to him."

"I'm not ready yet." Kit said. 

"I'm quite sure he'll understand that. Stay with us until you are! It would be nice to have you here. Why, Lemony would be thrilled." Beatrice did look sincerely delighted at the thought, and though the idea of staying with Beatrice and Lemony was tempting, Kit had already considered how she might answer such an offer. 

"I'm going to rent a room in a hotel for a week. I need some time alone, I think."

Beatrice looked concerned. "Kit, are you sure? I feel that could be the last thing you need at the moment. You were at the hospital tonight. I didn't want to pry, but I thought you might have gone into shock after discovering Olaf's infidelity, needed a nurse's care for a bit. I don't want you to be alone at a time like this."

Whatever secrets Beatrice might have been harboring, Kit had to acknowledge that her love for her friends was true. She reached for Beatrice's hand and offered her the warmest smile she could muster. "I'll be fine, Beatrice. I just need to think about whether I still want to marry him."

Beatrice nodded. "Very well. Just know you have a place here if you need it. You should at least stay tonight. Lemony will be home soon and we could all read a book together like we used to."

Kit couldn't find it in her heart to say no. The next morning, however, she left before dawn, wandering until she came to a boutique hotel she had always admired. Once inside, she checked into a room, called into work sick, and crawled into bed. She barely left that position for five days, oscillating between despair and crippling grief. 

xxx

After those long days had passed, Kit decided that hiding away from the world forever was impossible. She gathered herself to the best of her abilities, and prepared to make the journey to the house she and Olaf shared with one another. When she arrived, she turned the key, almost apologetically, in the lock. 

Once inside, she was immediately assaulted by the pungent, stale odor of alcohol hanging in the air. She knew Olaf went into fits of drinking whenever they fought, but this fit must have been worse than the rest. Perhaps he had believed she would never return at all. 

As soon as Kit adjusted to the horrible smell, her ears received a shock of their own. The distinct sound of a pair of women having sex echoed from the direction of the sitting room. Softly as she could, Kit made her way into the alcove that led to the parlor. Olaf had not heard her come in. He was on the sofa, watching a film on the projector before him. To her disgust, Kit instantly recognized the figures projected on the screen. When Beatrice had told her that she was shooting a nudie film, she hadn't realized it would be this week. Then again, Kit had heard that the creation of such films could be quite a simple process. 

In front of her, in black and white, was Beatrice wearing lingerie. Beside Beatrice was none other than Esme Squalor in a dramatic set of racy black underwear. Kit grimaced. Clearly, Esme had found a way to make money after all. As the wild scene progressed, Beatrice picked up a sex toy in one hand and ran the other over Esme's body, which was, Kit noted, too thin, as though she hadn't had a proper meal in months. Without her dramatic clothing, Esme looked like a trembling, frightened girl. As Beatrice stood behind her and dragged the toy playfully against the side of one of her long legs, Esme bit her lip, as though she were in pain. Her eyes were wide and teary, resigned but miserable. Kit wanted nothing more than to jump into the scene and drag Esme away to safety. She felt her vision blur as anger seared its way through her core. She turned her attention sharply to her fiancé on the couch 

Kit feared that Olaf might be vulgarly touching himself to the scene, but instead, he was gritting his teeth and punching his fist furiously into a nearby cushion. Kit could stand it no longer, "Olaf," she said venomously, "aren't you going to welcome me home?"

"Kit!" Olaf squeaked, "Kit, this isn't what it looks like." He paused the film on a particularly graphic image. With the air of a distressed child, he said, "I'm so glad you're back."

Kit ignored his affection. "If it's not what it looks like, what is it?"

"Nero Feint asked me to shoot this film. You know he distributes shit films like this. We both thought it would make a lot of money, but you can clearly see the problem." He flung his hand toward the image of Esme on the screen, as though he wished could slap her. "She's not cooperating. She's supposed to at least fake ecstasy. Instead, the bitch looks like she's being tortured. What's so horrible about fucking Beatrice? She's ruined the whole film. We're going to have to shoot it again with Beatrice and someone else."

"Well, you should at least pay her for her effort." Kit said before she could stop herself. 

Olaf raised his eyebrow in surprise. "You're in an admirably compassionate mood. Nevertheless, I'm not sure I can pay her, love. She didn't do the job." 

Kit felt feverish. She strode over to Olaf, and took his face in her hands. Olaf breathed out heavily, as if he had been holding his breath for hours. "Kit," he sighed weakly. He leaned up to kiss her. For a moment, she let him. As he pulled her closer, however, he was stunned by the sensation of a sharp knife pressing against his bare chest. 

"Why, Kit?" he asked, "Surely, you wouldn't do this. I love you. You know its true." He was rambling, heartbroken but also, Kit knew, quite scared. At last, she had the advantage. 

With the hand that wasn't holding the knife against Olaf's chest, she reached into her pocket and produced her engagement ring. In a low and terrible voice, she asked, "Who is Olivia?"


	8. The Cheerless Clown

"Kit," Olaf stammered, "I don't know who you're talking about. Please, take the knife away and we can discuss things in a civilized manner. What's gotten into you lately?"

Kit did not acquiesce to his demands. "I think the better question is what has gotten into you. Olaf, tell me where this engagement ring came from."

"I bought it, of course," Olaf said. 

"Okay, bought it where?" Kit asked, attempting to steady her voice. Panic flashed across Olaf's eyes, which caused Kit to instinctively push the knife even closer to his chest. 

Olaf tensed. "Oh you know, one of those big jewelers. I don't recall which one at this point."

Kit snarled, "A likely story. Tell me Olaf, who was Olivia and why did you murder her?"

Olaf swallowed. "Kit, listen, you've got this wrong. I didn't kill her." 

"Now, we're getting somewhere," Kit said dryly, "If you didn't kill her, tell me who did."

"I don’t know!" Olaf wheezed, "Kit, I barely knew the woman. She was some actress I cast in a bit part and then someone snuffed her out. You know it happens in this city. But I wouldn't do something like that, darling. Come on, you know me."

Kit adopted a sickly sweet smile. "Well, I guess that settles things, then. But since you don't remember where you bought the engagement ring, I think I'll take it down to the cops in the wing of the city V.F.D. doesn't control. Something tells me they might be interested in it."

At these words, Olaf shocked Kit by wresting the knife from her hands and pushing her up against a nearby wall. "You wouldn't dare," he hissed. In his effort to capture the knife, he had bloodied his hands. His palm now closed around the knife's handle as blood seeped dramatically along the length of the blade. 

"And why not?" Kit laughed, a frenzied sound. "What do you have to hide, Olaf? Why does everyone in this god-forsaken organization seem to understand something that I don't? What makes it okay to kill someone?" 

"Give me the ring, Kit," Olaf demanded in a ragged voice. 

"I won't."

"Give it to me!" He grabbed her wrist and sliced the side of it with the knife. It was a small, insignificant wound, but a wound nevertheless. As soon as Olaf saw what he had done, all of his aggression melted away from him. "Kit! Oh Kit, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did," Kit said tartly, "You people in V.F.D deserve each other."

"You say that like you aren't one of us." Olaf snapped. 

Heedless of the danger it posed, Kit kicked Olaf in his crotch. Olaf doubled over, gasping for breath and, as he did so, lost control of the knife in the process. Kit scooped it up, and ran from the house. Although Olaf had failed to verbally confirm his guilt, Kit felt his actions told her all that she needed to know. 

xxx

After leaving Olaf's, Kit didn't go to the police across town after all. Instead, she found herself at Nero Feint's bunkhouse, waiting for Esme to come home from a date with some mystery man. When she returned and saw Kit waiting for her in the lobby, she looked both excited and perplexed. "Kit, I thought it would be a long time before I saw you again. I'm so sorry for what I asked of you before. I shouldn't have, I was—"

Before she could complete her thought, Kit threw her arms around Esme. Esme nearly yelped in surprise. "You were right," Kit said, "You were right about everything." A beat passed. Kit was overcome with emotion, both from the struggle with Olaf and the relief at learning that Esme was still pleased to see her. Finally, she said "I'd like…I think I'd like to go upstairs with you. Would that be okay? Would you want that?"

Esme's eyes widened in delight; her posture mirrored Kit's intensity. "I thought you'd never ask."

xxx

Upstairs, Kit noted that Esme had attempted to make the sterile bunkhouse rent room unique. To match her colorful wardrobe, she had decorated the bedroom with a bright orange chair and purchased a lovely blue duvet cover for her bed. The curtains boasted an enchanting floral print, and beside those curtains, on a simple, but clean desk was a vase that contained one carnation flower. Kit smiled at the sight of the space, "Your space looks like you."

Esme seemed suddenly shy. "And that's good?"

"Oh yes, I think it's wonderful," Kit said. As if encouraged by Kit's approval, Esme took Kit into her arms and kissed her, running her hands across the other woman's blouse in an effort to remove it. When she had done so successfully, she noticed the superficial wound on Kit's arm. It was so minor that it had already ceased its bleeding, but Kit wondered if the scratch would remain for some time—Olaf's threat to her made tangible. Esme ran her hand lightly across the fresh scratch. 

"When did this happen?" she muttered.

Sick of V.F.D and its subterfuge, Kit opted for honesty, "Tonight. I confronted Olaf. I don't know that he really meant to hurt me. He panicked when I asked him about the ring." Kit felt short of breath as she recalled the scene, and her eyes prickled with tears. "He was watching this…tape of you and Beatrice there. And I confronted him. He knows what happened with Olivia." Kit's lip quivered, and she bit it fiercely. "You were right," she said again. 

"Shh, Kit, be here with me." Esme whispered, her voice uncharacteristically soothing, "For now, let it go. Be with me."

And Kit was. Esme's presence, her voice, her scent, and the warmth of her body unleashed some primal longing within Kit, and the two women touched one another until they were spent. They then awoke two hours later to do it again. Kit was in a stupor, and more incapable than ever of recalling why Beatrice had insisted that love between women had to be mere practice, and nothing more. 

When Kit woke at last, dawn was approaching. Esme was already out of bed, sitting at the small desk in her room and smoking. Kit felt languid and wished the other woman had opted to remain in her company a bit longer. "Come back to bed, dearest, it isn't yet five o'clock."

Esme turned to her, and Kit saw weariness in her eyes. "Kit," Esme started, "I thought about what you said after I asked you for money. I didn't want you to think I was using you. So I got this part in this trash film with Beatrice. I didn't want to do it. Apparently, I wasn't any good in it. Olaf doesn't even want to pay me for it." Esme gritted her teeth angrily. 

"I saw the film," Kit admitted, "Or part of it at least. I can't tell you how much I wished I could help you. I felt responsible. If I had just paid your bill, you would never have had to shoot the damn film."

Esme gave Kit an unfathomable half smile and extended her hand for Kit to take, just as she had in her hospital room. Kit did so gladly. "Don't worry about that, Kit. I know why you said what you said. Besides, I think I've figured out a way to handle Georgina anyhow. What upsets me is that apparently the film has been circulating this week, and some major director wants to cast Beatrice in his big budget film. Not me, Beatrice!" Esme spat Beatrice's name out of her mouth with such ferocity that spittle lined the sides of her lips. She swiftly wiped it away with a handkerchief. "First, she is going to get my half of the pay for the trash film as well as her own. And now, she is going to get her first big break because of that wretched movie. I feel as if that horrid bitch has stolen from me!"

Kit dropped Esme's hand, "Beatrice, isn't a bitch, Esme."

"Oh really? Kit, surely by now you see them all for what they truly are." Esme's expression was pitying, and Kit hated it. "You don't know them at all," Esme added. 

"I do know Beatrice. She is my best friend, my brother's lover. I know her well."

"Beatrice gave Olaf Olivia's location on the night of her murder." Esme said flatly, "I have proof, and I'm going to the police with it. She doesn't deserve a career."

"Esme, you can't do that! Even if what you say is true, it doesn't make Beatrice a murderer. Think about what you are saying, please." Kit reached toward Esme again, but this time, her gesture was ignored. The silence that fell between them was uncomfortable, and Kit broke it again, feeling desperate, "I can't hurt my brother like that. Surely, you can understand. Forget Beatrice. Maybe she'll make it as an actress, but I know you can too. You're so unlike anyone I've ever met, Esme. Let me take care of you. We can get a place together, and I can help with money until you've made it."

Esme's gaze grew soft. "You paint a beautiful picture, Kit," she said sadly, "But you're just like the rest of V.F.D. I know not all of the cops in this city are corrupt. I went out with a nice one not too long ago. I won't do what Olivia did and tell the wrong person about this." Esme gripped the back of the chair she was sitting in tightly, and reached for another cigarette. She had smoked two already, and Kit didn't see that they were calming her nerves. "I haven't been able to forget Olivia." Esme half-mumbled, "I suspect I never will." 

"Esme, please, forget all of them. We can move to another city. They make films further up the coast too. It just isn't worth it. Even if you're right about Beatrice too—and I suspect you aren't—there is no stopping V.FD. You're messing with forces you don't understand." Sweat lined Kit's hands. "Please, Esme, see reason."

Esme pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth. "Even now, you're defending them. I don't understand you, Kit." All traces of anger had left her tone, and she seemed deflated somehow. "I've got my proof, and I'm taking it to a police officer I can trust."

"What proof?" Kit asked. Her head was spinning. Ever since Esme had arrived in the city, everything had turned upside down. She half expected to wake up by Olaf's side and find it had all been a dream.  
"I don't think I'll be sharing it with you now that I know where your loyalties are." Esme retorted. "Leave me be, Kit."

"Esme, it doesn't have to be like this. We could go away together." Kit repeated this suggestion desperately. For some reason she couldn't fully articulate, she felt as if she might never again have the chance to convince this remarkable woman, this woman who had made her see her colleagues clearly for the first time, that there could be another life, a better life, elsewhere. 

Esme turned away from Kit, her voice heavy with emotion. "I can't do that, Kit."

Kit gathered her things—bits of clothing that the pair had scattered about the room in their passion. The memory of the previous night threatened to bring tears to Kit's eyes. Not once did Esme glance in her direction as she dressed. As she started to leave, she said, "I'll call you, Esme."

"Don't bother," Esme said stiffly. She had removed the carnation from the vase on her desk and was holding it in her long fingers. With that pitiful image seared in her mind, Kit turned and left. 

xxx

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Kit was traveling without a destination. As she walked toward downtown, it occurred to her that she could stop by her brother's office in the journalism district. She walked into Lemony's building, and his secretary happily escorted her to his office. She told Kit that Lemony was taking his lunch break now, but would be returning shortly. Kit nodded absent-mindedly. "Are you all right?" the young woman asked, "Should I phone Mr. Snicket? I'm sure he wouldn't mind returning earlier if he knew you were unwell."

"I'm fine!" Kit said, more forcefully than she had meant to. Her sharp tone frightened the secretary away, and Kit was left to contemplate the works of art on Lemony's wall in his absence. The work behind his desk was one he had painted the previous summer, a piece entitled, "The Cheerful Clown." As one might guess, the portrait depicted a merry jester. The jester was unique, though, in that his smile was far wider than any human smile could ever be. It seemed to stretch, almost, from ear to ear. Sometimes, Kit didn't completely understand her brother's surrealist work, but she always supported him. Today, however, she wished she could take the portrait off of the wall. It seemed to be mocking her, as its boundless cheer represented the antithesis of her misfortune. Kit pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in her lap.


	9. The Terrible Truth

When Lemony arrived in his office, he rushed over to Kit and pulled her into his arms, the depth of his compassion reaching heights that so often only a family member can muster. In his embrace, Kit was unable to prevent herself from giving into emotion. "I don't understand it, Lemony," she said aloud. "I don't think I understand V.F.D. anymore. I feel like there are so many things about our organization I'm not privy to. Our purpose is to celebrate people, education. To put out fires. And I feel like we're starting them."

"Kit," Lemony said, tenderly, "Tell me what this is about."

Breathlessly, Kit related all that had occurred over the course of the last few days, particularly how Esme had led her to doubt Olaf, Georgina, and even Beatrice. Lemony sat and listened in his quiet, attentive way. After she finished, he fixed his sister with a very serious expression. "Kit, do you recall reading Carmilla as a child?"

Kit wiped the tears from her eyes, "That old vampire novel? Yes, I remember it. But I can't think why that matters now."

Lemony went on, "The story, if you'll recall, involved a young woman who led a relatively normal and even happy life before she encountered a vampire, Carmilla. She was then utterly seduced by Carmilla, brought under her spell, and made to question everyone and everything she had ever known. She only attained freedom once Carmilla was dispatched."

Kit knew now where her brother was going with this story, and she didn't much care for it. "I'm not in love with a vampire," she said flatly. 

"No," Lemony said patiently, "and neither was our winsome heroine. She was seduced by her, by her unusual, artful magic. Kit, the night you met Esme, I told that she was an unusual individual, more like a carefully constructed art portrait than a real person. She lives to beguile. If she had her way, she would separate you from all of us. I think it's working."

"How could you say that, Lemony? You should have seen how exercised Olaf got over the ring last night. There is no way he wasn't involved in that Olivia woman's death."

Lemony took a quick, almost apologetic breath, "Kit, Olaf didn't kill Olivia. In fact, no one did. She killed herself."

"What?" Kit asked. 

"She claimed that he assaulted her, but even that seems unlikely to have been true. Nevertheless, Olaf worried about those accusations circulating and ruining his career. He talked to me about it one night kind of late. How he didn't want you to get wind of any of it."

Kit looked horrified, "Why did you never tell me any of this?"

"I didn't see the sense in stressing you out, Kit. For what it's worth, I believe Olaf. I don't think he raped the girl. He said she left a ring at his theater, but that it wasn't the ring he used to propose to you. Your engagement ring is a family heirloom that belonged to his mother, not Olivia Caliban. He never told you where it came from because it didn't cost much. He didn't want you to be ashamed of him." Lemony put his hand on Kit's arm companionably, "I hate to be the one to tell you these things, Kit. Olaf's not a perfect man. Far from it. But he's not the monster Esme has painted as these last few days."

All the blood drained from Kit's face. Her head was spinning. Her brother seemed, to her amazement, perfectly calm and rational. She thought of Olaf calling after her desperately the day before. She thought of Esme's plot to ruin his life and Beatrice's as well. Her heart throbbed, "How was I so easily manipulated?"

Lemony looked at his sister kindly. "Not easily, Kit. She's like magic. Everyone, even the brightest, can be manipulated by magic." When Kit didn't respond, he continued, "Please come and stay with me and Beatrice for awhile. I know you'll need some time to decide whether you want to patch things up with Olaf. He's hardly a murderer, but I don't think much of him for being unfaithful to you." 

Kit nodded gratefully, "I will."

"Good! Beatrice will be so pleased. We're going out to that Italian place you like tonight. We'll buy you dinner."

"I'm not a charity case," Kit insisted, though she felt there would be some healing in returning to normality. 

"I know," Lemony said, "But Beatrice and I love you, and it hasn't been an easy time. Let us spoil you."

"Very well," Kit groaned, but affectionately. 

xxx

The afternoon, as it turned out, was delightful. Kit took a taxi to Lemony's home shortly after visiting him in his office. Beatrice was there to welcome her, and they chatted as though it were old times. "You seem quite well," Beatrice had said, and it was true that Kit felt well. She was certain Lemony had told her the truth, and she was relieved to be out from underneath Esme's spell. Indeed, she felt foolish for believing a would-be chorus girl over her deeply compassionate and intellectual peers. She thought, also, of Olaf, and his shame over the ring. She wished he had told her so that she could put his mind at ease. She knew she would have to tell him what had come over her, even if it meant they could never again be together. 

After some time, Kit mentioned Olivia to Beatrice, and the other woman's eyes instantly brimmed with emotion. "The poor thing," Beatrice muttered, "She was to play a leading role opposite me in one of Olaf's plays. But she took her own life." Kit watched as Beatrice shuddered, "Suicide is as mysterious as it is dreadful."

Kit found she couldn't disagree. 

xxx

When Lemony arrived to drive the pair of women to dinner, Kit had already enjoyed a fair bit of liquor, and was in a jolly mood all things considered. She settled in, ordered her favorite eggplant parmesan, and listened to the live band that was playing a dramatic Frank Sinatra number. The loose and happy way she felt made her briefly long for Esme, who had made her feel similarly without any substances at all. The thought of Esme cast a brief shadow over her good mood, and she forced it away as best she could. Tendrils of the thought lingered, however, and she was a note less jolly for the remainder of the evening. 

Upon leaving the restaurant, as they were climbing once more into Lemony's car, Kit caught sight of a car she felt certain belonged to Georgina Orwell. "Lemony," Kit said, "isn't that Georgina's car?"

Lemony cast a glance across the street, "Yes, I suppose it is." What he didn't comment on, though, was that a thin, dark haired girl was getting into the passenger side of Georgina's car. Kit saw her and gasped. It couldn't be. She couldn't see the woman clearly enough to know if it was Esme, but a strange feeling in her gut confirmed that it was. Her head, once more, was spinning. Why was Esme getting into the car with Georgina? Where on earth could they be going? The thought plagued her for the rest of the night, which, incidentally, didn't last that long. Beatrice and Lemony both claimed to be tired rather early, and Kit didn't question them, as the day's events had rather left her exhausted as well. Had she more energy, she might have remained awake, contemplating where the woman she had grown to love so quickly was going with Georgina Orwell, and why. In spite of her desire to stay awake, however, Kit was falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, almost, she noted, as if she had been drugged. 

In her dreams, she saw Esme in a black dress that matched her hair and a lovely carnation flower in her hand. "Kit," she whispered, "I loved you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story so far! I want to warn you that the next chapter has a bit of graphic violence in it. Be prepared for that and read it only when you are in a mood to see such things.


	10. A Crushed Carnation

The following morning was, unexpectedly, chaotic. Beatrice woke Kit by shaking her gently, but firmly. Her head felt heavy, and she glanced around blearily, having definite difficulty bringing Beatrice into focus. "Beatrice," she said, "I feel like I ate or drank something funny. I'm so groggy."

Beatrice looked at her gravely, "Well, you won't be groggy after I tell you what's happened."

Kit attempted to feel more alert. "Why, what's happened?"

Beatrice wouldn't look at Kit. "I think you'd better come see. I haven't been down there yet, but Lemony called me and told me that I'd need to see what he described to believe it. The cops are already there, but soon all of the press will be too. Lemony is already there."

At this, Kit was finally awake, "Cops? Beatrice, what the hell is going on? Did Lemony tell you what was happening? Don't leave me in the dark."

Beatrice threw a pair of sweatpants at Kit. "Come on," she said in a heavy voice, still not daring to make eye contact with her best friend. Kit donned the pants and followed Beatrice a block down the street to an empty lot. Lemony, as a member of the press, was, as Beatrice had said, already there, an unfathomable expression upon his face. When he saw Kit, he held a hand up, "No Kit!" he exclaimed, "Kit, you shouldn't see this."

Kit raised an eyebrow in an effort at playfulness, "You don't want me to see it, but you'll allow Beatrice to?"

Lemony looked suddenly uncomfortable, the way he always had when he had been caught in a lie as a child. Kit wondered at his discomfort. She wasn't, however, left to wonder long. Heedless of Lemony's words, she made her way to the empty lot and, though the police insisted she stay back, she was able to see for herself what everyone was so excited about. 

Lying among the wispy grass and scattered dirt was what initially appeared to be no more than a department store mannequin. The body before her was very white, whiter, it seemed to Kit, than any human body could ever be. Astoundingly, the torso had been cut open, revealing human organs. The body had been cut in half at the waist, but the corpse's butcher had been a precise sort, as the remains were severed very carefully and the corpse was drained entirely of blood. Somewhere nearby, Kit heard one of the cops say, "I reckon a doctor did it. Someone who knows the medical field. I mean, look at the state of the corpse. Who else could do that? Geez, what do you think she did to piss him off this much? Never seen a body like this one!"

Kit's heart was pounding in her ears. Unbelieving, she dared herself to look at the torso more closely, where she saw beautiful breasts covered with scars—likely from cigarettes. They were, she knew, the breasts she had kissed so passionately just days earlier. But, as if her cruel curiosity needed confirmation, she found herself looking beyond the woman's breasts and into her face. The lovely blue eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. The long black hair was matted, but clean, as if the killer had opted to wash it before placing her in this field. Her long arms were stretched gracefully above her head. Though every aspect of this ghoulish sight had been horrific, there was somehow nothing more horrible than looking upon the woman's lips. For the killer had slashed her from ear to ear in such a way that it looked as though she were wearing an eternal smile. Kit was instantly reminded of her brother's surrealist art, of the cheerful clown in his office. She had felt as though that image were mocking her the day before, and now she was certain that the person who had killed the woman she had loved had thought to mock her as they killed her by cutting this gruesome, undignified wound into her beautiful face. 

Without knowing she was doing it, Kit found she was screaming. The cop who had been speaking earlier suddenly rushed to her side and caught her in his arms. He looked at Lemony, "Is she with you?" he asked, "She shouldn't be here."

"No!" Kit screeched, "No, don't touch me!" All she could think was that the image before her couldn't be real, that Esme, the most vivacious woman she had ever met, couldn't be that lifeless, miserable creature in that field. Her mind was whirring once more. She recalled, suddenly, Esme's description of Olivia's corpse, and Kit knew that, with the exception of the wicked clown smile, Esme's own body was styled exactly like it. She could hear Esme's words in her ears: "Kit, if I can't pay Georgina, something evil will happen." 

But it couldn't be that simple, could it? Had Georgina really killed her? Who would want to kill Esme? Kit turned away from the scene and vomited. Lemony and Beatrice both rushed over to her. "Kit," Beatrice said lovingly, "Oh Kit, I didn't know it was going to look like this. I'd never have told you to come if I'd had thought-"

"That's why I told you not to bring her," Lemony snapped, uncharacteristically short with Beatrice. "You just couldn't resist."

Kit noted how they bickered, how casual it seemed. Their reactions to what they had just witnessed seemed vastly out of place. "How can you be so calm?" she blurted, " Georgina murdered her! I saw her get into the car with Georgina last night. You saw it too, but neither of you said anything." Kit was shaking violently. She fixed Lemony with a simultaneously icy and heartbroken glare. "You lied to me. You both did. Esme told me what happened to Olivia and now the same thing has happened to her."

"It honestly didn't happen to Olivia," Beatrice protested, "Maybe Esme's killer heard her tall tale and thought it would be fun to make it reality. You never know with the sort of crazy person who does this kind of thing."

While Beatrice spoke, Kit noted that she seemed as though she were holding back a smile, as if this unimaginable nightmare were somehow quite funny indeed. With a fury she didn't know she possessed, Kit rushed at Beatrice, and pushed her to the ground. A policeman shouted, "Hey!" but Beatrice to Kit's surprise, said "No, let her go." The policeman did. Kit turned to face him, and said, quietly. "Will you shut her eyes? She's seen enough."

The policeman looked confused. "What do you mean?" 

"Esme's eyes," Kit said, and hearing the woman's name in her own voice managed to break her out of her own sense of shock. Tears now fell from her eyes unstoppably, and her body convulsed. The policeman looked on sympathetically. Quietly, he asked, "Would you like to close them? I think maybe she would like that better than if I did it."

Despite her immense grief, Kit nodded to the young man gratefully. She approached Esme's tortured remains. She was so freshly dead that the scent of death was not yet upon her. With the tenderness of a lover, she closed those captivating eyes forever, and placed a light kiss on the striking black curls that had stolen her heart that night at Georgina's. "Rest forever, angel. Your troubles are finally over."

Kit stood up and walked past Beatrice and Lemony, who, for some reason she couldn't imagine—compassion, guilt, or both--- wordlessly allowed her to pass. Kit made her way, as if she had been programed to do so, to Georgina's exquisite manor house. 

While Georgina had ultimately become an optometrist, Olaf had told Kit on multiple occasions how Georgina's brilliance knew no bounds, how she had excelled in surgery at school but decided not to pursue it because the hours were too demanding. Only someone with a surgeon's precision could have dismembered Esme's body. A montage of Georgina's brutality flashed across her memory—the image of Georgina whipping the young woman who couldn't pay her had previously stood out as the chief image of horror. Now, though, Kit had a far more appalling one to add to the catalogue. She knew that, despite her best efforts, that last image of Esme Squalor would haunt her forever. 

"V.F.D. puts out fires," she said cynically, though there was no one there to hear her. She thought of Esme, and longed, desperately, to turn the clock back to twelve hours earlier, to when her beautiful lover had been alive and well. She wanted to rush to Georgina's car, to tell Esme she was sorry for ever doubting her, that she loved her, truly. The thought that such things would never be possible due to this senseless, unimaginably cruel murder nearly brought her to her knees. "I could have saved you," Kit said aloud, "I'm so sorry I failed, my darling."

Choking back tears, she attempted to steady her hand. In it, Kit held a V.F.D spyglass, which she was about to use to commit the ultimate sacrilegious act in the organization. Esme, Kit felt, had seen V.F.D. for what it truly was, and they hadn't appreciated being exposed by a woman like her, a woman that, as Georgina had put it that night at the theater, had very little worth ultimately. Kit meant to see to it that that "worthless" woman cost Georgina dearly indeed. 

As the spyglass caught the light, one of the photographs in Georgina's sitting room went up in a blaze. Kit watched, pleased to see how quickly the flames were rising. Perhaps, with all of the attention on the ghastly murder, authorities would be even slower to respond to a fire than they might otherwise have been. Kit watched as the flames entered the area where Georgina's bedroom was, and she felt satisfied. She liked the idea of purging the world of the house were Esme had likely died. She knew that, at this hour, Georgina was probably still resting as well, and yet she felt no remorse. 

"Kit!" a voice from behind her called, and Kit looked up to see Olaf rushing toward her. "Kit, what's going on? I was on my way to see you at Beatrice and Lemony's, I was bringing you this!" Olaf proudly held out a pink carnation for Kit to take. She did so. Kit noted that the carnation had a long stem, and that several of the leaves upon it were missing. It was exactly the same carnation that had been in Esme's room a few days earlier. Esme, likely, had been wearing it in her hair. 

Olaf looked up in shock at the sight of Georgina's house engulfed in flames. "Georgina!" he exclaimed, "Oh Kit, we've got to help her. Did you see what caused this? I just saw Georgina last night. There didn't seem to be anything in the house that would cause a fire of such proportions."

Kit heard the panic in Olaf's voice, and it pleased her. "I'm sure you did see Georgina last night." She held the flower tightly in her hands. "You killed her," she said emotionlessly. 

"Who?" Olaf said, his voice strained, "Georgina? We're going to kill her if we don't help now!"

"No," Kit said calmly, "You and Georgina murdered Esme Squalor last night. I saw her on the vacant lot this morning. Did you think I was stupid, that I wouldn't figure it out?"

"Kit, I know you're obsessed with that stupid, dead bitch, but now is not the time to discuss such things. Georgina is dying for heaven's sake!" Olaf's voice reached a pitch Kit had not previously imagined it could. For her part, her voice remained low and steady. 

"She was far from stupid, but she is dead because she knew too much about V.F.D. You and Georgina destroyed her over it, killed her like a dog."

"Kit!" Olaf cried desperately, "She was worthless, honey. And she was spreading rumors about us. You're a member of V.F.D., you know we look out for our own. That's what I want to do right now." Olaf started to make his way toward the blaze, but Kit stood in his way, holding him in place with her knife once more. This time, she aimed it at his throat. 

"Kit!" he screamed, "There is no time for this nonsense. I'm not going to let Georgina die for some slut."

Kit pushed the knife into his throat. "You killed her," she said again. Meanwhile, Kit heard the sound of Georgina's screams emanating from the mansion. She smiled. "I like setting fires better than putting them out."

Olaf looked at her in horror, "You…you've no place to judge us if you've done this to Georgina!" He struggled against her, "Let me go, you crazy bitch!"

Kit hummed low in her throat. "You always did love Georgina, didn't you? Now, you can listen to her die."

To her amazement, Olaf started to cry. "The girl was nothing! You're destroying us—our organization-- over nothing! She was going to spill the beans on us, Kit."

"And maybe she should have," Kit hissed, pushing the knife so close to him that it drew blood. 

Olaf's vulnerable state made him rageful. "You know," he said in a terrible voice, "Georgina and I certainly wanted the bitch dead, but we hadn't planned to act on it. Not, at least, until Beatrice decided she couldn't stand the thought that such a low, trashy women could present a threat to her illustrious acting career. Then, the three of us thought it would be fortuitous to save Beatrice's budding career and V.F.D. in one night."

Olaf went on, lost in a memory. "Lemony, of course, was the inspiration for her face. He was there last night too. He said that, as she was like art in life, so she ought to be in death. He was squeamish with the knife though, so Beatrice did it." Olaf grunted, as though the thought gave him pleasure. "I told her she ought to have let Georgina do it, but she insisted. So the smile was crooked, but a smile nonetheless. Esme was drugged, didn't know what Beatrice was doing until it was too late. It was the same drug Lemony and Beatrice gave you before leaving the house, I suspect. That's how she died, you know. She bled out from the cuts in her face, the cuts that ruined her famed beauty. Beatrice is your murderer. Georgina and I merely cleaned up the mess."

"You're lying!" Kit wailed, though she knew he wasn't. Georgina's house had quieted, and now the blaze was almost peaceful to watch.

"No, I'm not," Olaf answered, "And, if you breathe a word of what I just told you to the wrong authorities, I'll be sure to tell them of Beatrice and Lemony's role in all of this."

Kit froze. Whatever they might have done, she couldn't abide the thought of those two beloved people in prison. She would never be able to stand them again, not after today, but she certainly couldn't wish pain upon them either, particularly Lemony. And pain to Beatrice was pain to Lemony. Thus, with Olaf's threat ringing in her head, Kit cut his throat from ear to ear with the skill of someone practiced at it. Olaf looked over at her, stunned as he realized that she had silenced him forever to ensure her brother's security. He grasped her arm desperately, "Kit," he attempted to gurgle before collapsing onto the ground. Kit turned away and didn't look back. As she walked on, she pressed the carnation to her chest as if it were her last friend in the world. 

xxx

Kit Snicket left the City for good the day after Esme Squalor's body was discovered. She sent Lemony a letter, informing him that he shouldn't expect to see her again, and boarded a train for the East Coast. She chose St. Augustine as her new home. Since the city was Esme's childhood home, her horrific death and the police force's inability to locate the killer were popular topics in Kit's new city as well, at least for a time. The papers smeared Esme's reputation, said she was a whore who went with all sorts of men and that that was why tracking her killer was practically impossible. The killer was, of course, never found, but not because of Esme's dating habits. 

Kit enjoyed walking the streets of St. Augustine, imagining places Esme might have visited and occasionally, even hearing stories about her, as such an enchanting beauty does not pass unnoticed in such a small place. The one location in town Kit never visited was the graveyard, as Esme's remains had been brought there shortly after the murder. Kit never wanted to see the grave—it was a reminder that Esme was gone forever—but she did find comfort in knowing that Esme's bones were never far from Kit's own. 

One afternoon, after experiencing an especially vivid dream, Kit was inspired to contact the parents of Jerome Salinger, the man to whom Esme had claimed she was engaged. When she dialed the Salingers' number, Kit felt suddenly nervous. They might, after all, think her mad for getting in touch. She didn't have much time to consider, though, because, after two rings, a middle-aged woman's voice came on the line, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Salinger, this…this is Kit Snicket. I was a friend of Esme Squalor's, your son's fiancé. I thought I'd reach out. I wanted to reach out to her family too, but I can't seem to find anyone who knows them. I suppose they must have moved. I was wondering if you knew anything about them, how I could contact them."

What Kit learned that afternoon was alarming to say the least. Jerome's mother was a kind sort who indulged Kit's questions. She told her that, indeed, the Squalors still resided near to town, but that they hadn't had contact with Esme in years. Mrs. Salinger relayed, quite matter-of-factly Kit thought, that, as a teenager, Esme Squalor had killed one of her classmates with a poison dart, and, consequently, had been sent to live in a mental institution outside of town until she came of age. Esme had insisted frequently that the slaying of her fellow student had been an accident, but, as Mrs. Salinger so rightly said, who could be sure? 

Kit, quite shaken, asked how Esme had met Jerome. Mrs. Salinger confessed that Jerome did meet Esme one evening, and was quite infatuated with her, but that he had to go overseas the next day, and that there had never been an engagement. What Esme had had with Jerome had been the promise of a relationship, nothing more. 

In the end, Kit left the exchange with the kindly woman wondering, not for the first time, if she had ever known Esme at all. Her penchant for tall tales and her remarkably dark past rendered her unknowable. Kit resigned herself to the fact that perhaps she had never really known Esme or, indeed, anyone in her life. 

That afternoon, Kit walked, for the first time, to Esme's grave, and, when she arrived, she found, to her amazement, that someone had covered it with carnations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this story has such a dark ending! It is, as some of you may have guessed prior to now, inspired by the most famous noir era murder of all time. All of my Lemony Snicket stories have a 1930s/40s noir setting. I blame the wonderful illustrations of Brett Helquist for that, as many of the characters wear 30s/40's fashion. 
> 
> Though I enjoyed the Netflix portrayal of Esme well enough, she was never totally Esme to me. As a child, I pictured a dark, noir era beauty, one with jet black hair, veil hats, and a general mysterious air about her. :) As such, it seemed appropriate to portray her thusly in this particular story. 
> 
> Thank you to those who read this short story and commented. Your comments and kudos meant so much! It was so fun to hear that you liked the story. I will likely write another short story like this one, albeit perhaps less gruesome next time! I love writing for this wonderful fandom.


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